


Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: Showing Restraint

by DirtyScrolls



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Sex, Attempted Seduction, Blushing, Bosmer (Elder Scrolls), Cannibalistic Thoughts, Corporal Punishment, Dirty Thoughts, Discipline, Humiliation, Licking, M/M, Masturbation, Mention of Necrophilia, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Power Imbalance, Punishment, Rape Fantasy, Rape/Non-con Elements, Thieves Guild, Verbal Humiliation, Whipping, mention of past m/m encounters, non-con stripping, probably fantastic racism, unwanted arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28786647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyScrolls/pseuds/DirtyScrolls
Summary: When a talented thief steps out of line, the Dragonborn does his job as Guildmaster.
Relationships: Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Gwilin, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Niruin, Male Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ravyn Imyan, Male Dragonborn/Anoriath (mentioned)
Comments: 69
Kudos: 32





	Adventures of a Mer-Chaser: Showing Restraint

**Author's Note:**

> Always, always, heed the tags.
> 
> I apologize for the long break between posts. I’ve been occupied with work and personal matters. Though I admit I’m a bit tired, I hope that hasn’t affected the story too noticeably.
> 
> I owe a lot of the ideas I played with here to a someone in the comments calling themselves “Guest”. Hey, if you are still reading, thanks a million for the inspiration to go ahead with Niruin.

Kordin had a fresh problem to deal with, though he had to admit it was almost as interesting as the Ravyn Imyan affair, and certainly more interesting than going over the Guild’s ledger, dealing with court business, paying off the expenses required to maintain his many households, or keeping Cicero from driving the Brotherhood as mad as he was. 

Against clear and strict Guild policy, based on old unwritten rules, officially codified by Kordin himself as one of his improvements to the Guild, their proud Bosmer master archer had been selling training to outsiders whenever the chance arose.

This apparently profitable sideline of Niruins’s had begun to conflict with Guild business. Otherwise, Kordin might have turned a blind eye, for now, busy as he was. But the Bosmer had been bringing in less coin, dropping jobs. This was at best abnormal for the capable elf.

Kordin didn’t want to kick out a talented thief, and he believed Niruin still valued his status in the Guild and the money he made on the jobs he did. 

He could always fine him again. Brynjolf had already done that on several occasions when the elf had quit too many jobs in a row, and Niruin seemed unfazed, so far.

There was no question the Nord knew exactly what he wanted to do—it made him shiver to think about it, but it was impossible. Unlike with Ravyn Imyan, there would be nothing to stop Niruin from taking a complaint to Brynjolf. Or, Gods forbid, Karliah. 

In the Guildmaster’s experience, Bosmer men usually preferred to be fucked by their own race, or sometimes Dunmer or Bretons. Smaller men, less likely to hurt their sweet hard compact bodies. 

He’d never been able to get a living one to willingly—even for pay--do anything other than make out, lick and touch, and let him suckle their pricks or their enticing sharp ears to his cock’s content. Sometimes, he’d gotten a brave one to suck his cock. Their bites were a delicious experience, especially if they concentrated their sweet teeth on the neck or inner thighs. 

One, from Ivarstead, had been adorably delighted at the fantasy of fucking a muscular Nord in the ass, so a drunken Kordin had found some trees to hide behind, and bent over, totally bare, to take in the elegant, small, but skilled cock. As the handsome, cheerful young Bosmer had railed him, he’d also played with the Nord’s member, remarking teasingly on its oddly large size and just how stiff and wet Kordin was for him. He hadn’t even bothered to finger Kordin much first, pleasingly eager to get right to giving him the burn of his thrusting slim cock. And he’d pulled his hair and left teeth-marks on his nape and shoulders, without Kordin having to ask, or beg, which he was very ready to do. What in Oblivion was that Bosmer’s name, again? 

He wondered if the Greybeards had seen in his face the next night that he had recently been well-taken by a gorgeous elf, that he could still feel a slight residue of come in his satisfied hole and on his genitals, even as he spoke to them.

And there had been Anoriath. The contract. Sunset on the tundra making his bloodless skin glow golden. The scratch of his beard. His blank, dark eyes. The near-unbearable clench inside him.

He shook his head, pulling himself out of memory. 

He had to focus on Niruin now.

On pretty, arrogant, disobedient Niruin. He opened a mead and continued to consider his options. 

Several hours later, the elf had returned, tired and damp from the trip back, after forging a ledger in Whiterun. He threw off his hood, ordered a mead, and began chatting with Vekel.

Kordin watched him for a moment from the other end of the Flagon, already rather excited about how he had decided to handle him. 

The graceful red-haired slight man had that classic, lean golden-brown Bosmer look. Muscles tight as his bow-string. His facial features were finely-wrought, his ears straight and sharp, his mouth wide and pretty. 

Sithis, he was irritatingly tempting. Kordin already resented the restraint he was going to have to show this evening.

The Nord finished the drink in front of him and approached his subordinate.

“Niruin,” he said evenly. “How was your job? I trust you had no trouble this time?”

The mer gave him a cool smile.

“No, Guildmaster, all went well.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He placed a gentle hand on the elf’s shoulder. “But there is something we need to address, if you’ll come with me into the training room.”

“Certainly.”

They crossed the Cistern, Niruin trailing a few steps behind. Only Cynric was in the training room, and Kordin asked him to clear out and tell the others he needed an hour or so alone with their archer.

Then he turned to the elf, who was looking more and more apprehensive, something that only increased his appeal.

“Why do we have a Guild, Niruin?”

“What?”

Kordin sighed and backhanded him firmly. Niruin put a hand to his pretty, golden-brown cheek. Kordin imagined, with delight, how it would turn red and then bruise.

“You heard the question, elf.”

“I—so we can…” The Bosmer faltered, rubbing his stricken face, his dark slanted eyes watery from the sting. “...pool our resources? Protect each other? Learn to be better at what we do?”

Kordin took the elf’s slim wrist and removed his graceful little hand from his face. Then he slapped him again, overlaying the previous blow.

“Why’d you do that?”

“So it’ll be obvious to anyone who sees your face that you’ve been punished. Now tell me, how do we hone our skills?”

Niruin looked down. Shor’s Bones. His red flush of shame was beautiful.

“Training,” he said quietly. 

“Good boy. Now, I think things should be a bit clearer to you.” Kordin took a few steps back from the brown mer and smiled. He hoped his growing erection wasn’t obvious. “Remove your armor.”

“My armor?”

Kordin gave his sharp left ear a hard pinch.

“Would you like another mark where everyone can see it?”

“No, Guildmaster.”

“Then take that armor off. You may leave your loincloth.”

Kordin watched hungrily as the Bosmer undid his boots and pulled them off his small slender feet, as he got himself out of his leathers, exposing smooth bronzy skin over gorgeously-honed little muscles. He glanced again at those delicious dexterous-looking feet. Niruin didn’t look at him as he stripped, so, fortunately, he could not see the desiring gleam in the Guildmaster’s eyes. 

The elf’s face and neck were turning redder as he stood humbled and nearly nude in front of the other man.

“What are the rules regarding training, Niruin?”

“No selling services to outsiders.”

“Exactly.” Kordin stroked his subordinate’s bare shoulder, ran his hand down his silken back, stopping at the middle, though he wanted to go lower. “So why did you do it?”

“I—I guess I got greedy.”

“You did. And your lack of attention to Guild business was disgraceful, don’t you think?”

Niruin still wouldn’t look at him, his whole body turned.

“Yes.”

“Look over here, at me.”

Kordin tried to keep his face neutral. 

As Niruin turned to look at him, he saw that he was blushing more deeply. Further, there was a small but evident bulge under his thin loincloth.

During his blurry time with the Stormcloaks, Kordin had become known for several things. First, and foremost, was his usefulness in battle. Second, his intense sexual interest in certain male prisoners and dead male enemies, which no one seemed to mind much, because of the first thing. The third was that Kordin was one of those men whom it was very difficult to punish, because he’d get obviously excited as soon as he was told he was going to be whipped. The fourth notable thing, of course, was his extreme eagerness to give out what he liked taking, another thing his superiors found useful.

He had gotten the idea for what he was about to do from one of his commanders, who used to haul him into his tent and make him relieve his arousal before the beating, all while watching him intently.

“You can take care of that first,” he ordered, gesturing. He laughed again at Niruin’s flush. “But I really wanna know. What has you so… interested?”

The Bosmer couldn’t help but lower his eyes.

“Tell me.”

“You made me strip,” he said, more quietly that Kordin had ever heard him before.

“Oh, you like showing yourself off?”

Niruin’s expression changed, now shining and hot. Kordin hoped his aroused little shudder didn’t show.

“Yes,” the other thief said, his voice still quiet, but smooth too. It reminded Kordin of the time Imyan had touched his arm, had spoken to him in salacious tones, to try to get out of what he was due. “You’re going to… whip me, aren’t you? Want to, maybe, help with--”

Kordin slapped him again, same cheek. 

Sithis, how he wanted to run his hands over him and tease that elegant prick. 

“That’s right. But, why is your slutty cock my problem?” Kordin smiled a little. “Now, I suppose, you might as well take off the loincloth, too.”

Niruin did it, tossing the cloth on his armor. His small, well-shaped prick was fully erect, standing straight.

Kordin gave his cock a quick but sharp smack, making him wince.

“Take care of your problem.”

He moved his eyes up and down Niruin’s neatly-defined body, from his hand jerking his prick to his reddened face and pleasure-softened half-lidded dark eyes. Kordin tried to keep his breathing steady as he watched the elf stimulate his leaking and increasingly pink cock.

Niruin smiled a soft, almost seductive smile, showing his little pointy teeth.

“You like watching, don’t you?”

Kordin slapped the smile off his face.

“You are not getting out of what you deserve. Keep going.”

Niruin lowered his eyes and obeyed. His hand moved rapidly up and down his shaft. He seemed to recede into his own mind. Kordin very much wanted to know what he was thinking about. His Guildmaster’s eyes, trained on his bare body? How it might feel to slide into Ravyn Imyan’s pretty dark hole? Brynjolf’s pretty lips?

He stopped himself from asking. This was still more business than pleasure, and he didn’t want to give Niruin any more notions of getting out of his punishment by playing the whore.

Soon enough, the Bosmer’s clever little hand was covered in seed, and his face was brightly flushed from his orgasm.

“Clean that. Tongue.”

Niruin obeyed, not even trying to mak a show of it. His face was an exciting red-brown.

Kordin was feeling very uncomfortable in his leathers.

“There,” said Kordin, in a satisfied tone. “Now there will be nothing to distract you from what you deserve.”

Kordin dragged an empty chest usually used for lockpicking practice to the middle of the room.

“Bend over this.”

Niruin put his red head and sharp face down.

“Yes, Guildmaster. I can—I can take it.”

Kordin harshly slapped his buttocks, detecting the deliberate show of submission in his voice. Niruin had always seemed like a bit of a would-be charmer, the kind of man who would do or endure many things.

“No talking unless I ask you a question, just do it.”

Niruin got on his knees and bent his lean brown torso over the lid of the chest. Without being asked, he angled his buttocks up, back dipped.

“Is this how you want me?” he asked, his voice rough.

The Nord gave his ass a sharp spank. His cock twitched as he did it.

“No talking, I said. Legs open a bit more.”

Niruin did it right away, something eager in his movements. 

Just like the handsome arrogant thing to have this kind of exhibitionist streak. A convenient trait, for sure; he was as tasty a sight as Kordin had always expected, slim parted thighs, high small buttocks, shoulders wide in comparison to his narrow hips. He liked the warm red hair falling messily against the bronzy neck. It wasn’t as dark as Brynjolf’s striking mane, but the unusual color still drew Kordin. He liked the glowing brown of the skin, too; it reminded him of the skin of the Cyrodiilic men he had used in his war days. 

The dense little archer’s muscles, the pretty but powerful development of his back, shoulders, and arms, made him think of tantalizingly dark things. He had heard Bosmer ate their enemies, in Valenwood. It would be interesting to turn that around on this beauty, sink his teeth into a succulent buttock, upper arm, or thigh. He rarely thought of Namira herself, though he appreciated the power of her artifact, and he was too often subject to the kind of hunger she blessed.

He had decided on a thick, looped strap, telling himself he’d only lash him thirty or so times, but he’d use as much strength as he felt necessary to make the archer submit to his rules and put his energy toward the Guild. 

Then he’d find Ravyn Imyan, or Brynjolf, and get off. 

However unlikely it was, he liked picturing a striped and stinging Niruin jerking himself off later, remembering what his transgressions had earned him. 

He swung the strap five times in rapid rhythm against the elf’s shoulders. He often liked to start there and move downward; he didn’t know why.

“How many did I give you, archer?”

“Five, Guildmaster.”

“Keep counting.” Kordin allowed himself to caress the man’s ass, though only with the strap. This was business, after all. “Every five strokes, tell me how many, or you’ll get extra.”

“Yes, Guildmaster.”

Did he detect a certain sluttish tone?

He snapped the lash across those pretty, broad shoulders. Niruin flinched, everything tightening up deliciously. He did it twice more, the cracks rapid and firm. The elf flexed under the pain, gasping on an inhale at the second blow. 

Yes, it was far too rare for Kordin to have a Bosmer man nude and under his control. Niruin was so delicate, yet so sturdy. 

He took the next three blows with small, sweet twitches of his muscles.

“How many was that?” demanded the Nord.

“That was ten, Guildmaster.”

“Good man.”

Kordin actually smiled. He had hit the mer hard, and his composure was respectable. 

Niruin knew it was expected of him to take this. Though he’d never had to do it before, Kordin had made it clear that physical punishment was one last-resort consequence of disobeying Guild rules. He had promised to discipline the men, while telling a mostly-uninterested Vex that she could deal with the women, knowing she would not enjoy her task as much as he was likely to enjoy his, and knowing that, because of Sapphire’s and Tonilia’s good sense and the dearth of new women, that she’d probably never have to do it. At any rate, she could turn anyone around just by using her acid tongue.

Kordin relished Niruin’s golden-brown skin, how it turned the warmest shade of red for him as he moved the strokes down his back.

“How many, elf?”

“Fifteen” Niruin groaned. “Guildmaster.”

That smooth sluttiness was in his voice again. Kordin said nothing about this, though it went straight to his prick. But he made the next stroke, across his mid-back, particularly sharp. The Bosmer flinched hard, his sleek brown body tightening.

“Are you sorry, archer?”

“Yes, Guildmaster. I am.” 

His voice was less slippery this time, more constrained. Kordin looked down at his striped back and raised buttocks. He struck him heavily across both his cheeks. They clenched and the mer grunted. Kordin felt his pre-come starting to dampen his loincloth under his armor

“Then tell me how sorry you are, and what for. And keep count.”

Kordin lashed him again, a little lower on his raised ass. 

“I’m… I’m very sorry, Guildmaster. I--”

Another stroke, across the arrogant Bosmer’s lower rump, just above his slim, now-trembling thighs.

“I’m s-sorry that I got greedy.”

The Bosmer’s ass tightened as the lash fell. The back of his neck was as red as his stripes.

“Anything else to say?”

“Twenty. I—I was neglectful--”

“Shamefully.”

Another snap of the lash, this time targeting slim warm-brown thighs.

“Yes, shamefully. I neglected the Guild.”

“I should make you earn back what you’ve lost us.”

The Bosmer’s thighs parted as they were struck again.

“Look at you. I could whore you out. Don’t think I haven’t heard of that idea of yours. You’d make us back what you cost us in no time.”

Another crack over both thighs. Kordin’s cock leaked at the thought of their haughty archer spreading his legs, presenting his ass, having his cock used sore. The Bosmer yelped. He was taking a lot for a man his size.

“I’m—so sorry, Guildmaster. So sorry. I won’t--”

Kordin whipped each thigh individually.

“Counts as one,” he told him, helpfully. 

“I promise I won’t do it again.”

Three rapid strokes came in a row, one on his buttocks, the other two across his thighs. Niruin winced miserably.

“Are you truly sorry, arrogant thing?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Guildmaster. And for my arrogance, too”

This time, when that submissive tone crept in again, Kordin was so aroused he could barely aim the last three strokes along the tops of his subordinate’s thighs. One caught him too low, almost on the backs of his slim knees. The Bosmer shouted in pain.

“Remember this,” Kordin advised him. “Now, get up, and make yourself decent.”

As the smaller man rose slowly from his bent-over position, he noted that he cock was half-hard, but made no remark. He watched him avidly as he dressed.

After the Bosmer had retreated to his bed, Kordin went back to the Flagon. Brynjolf was there, but he was conferring with Karliah, and Kordin presumed he’d hear about their discussion later. Dirge was looking dour as ever in the corner. Vex was counting out coin for Rune. Tonilia, Vekel, and Delvin were playing some kind of game at the bar, while the man he most wanted to see sat and watched. 

Ravyn Imyan, handsome, dark, and sleek, his eyes fiery little gems in the torchlight. 

“Hello, my handsome creature,” Kordin said, putting a hand on the ex-Morag Tong assassin’s shoulder. To his credit, Imyan did not flinch.

“Hello,” he said, in a low neutral voice, training those glittering impassive red eyes on him.

“I need to speak with you, Imyan. Please come with me.”

Kordin spent the rest of his night with Imyan under him, stripped bare from feet to neck, no part off-limits to Kordin’s ravenous tongue. And that tongue went everywhere. Places that made Imyan moan, like the cleft of his fine ass, or his elegant cock and big sack, or his neck. Places that made him recoil, like his feet, the backs of his knees, his armpits. In the end, of course, Kordin oiled him a little, then spent his accumulated lust inside of him.


End file.
